


Gesture

by AllegoriesInMediasRes



Series: Mary I of England: Truth, the daughter of time [7]
Category: 16th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Angst with a... not happy but hopeful ending?, Canon Compliant, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Historical Accuracy, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 07:17:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11270670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/pseuds/AllegoriesInMediasRes
Summary: Early 1534. Mary has been languishing at Hatfield for months when her father comes to visit.





	Gesture

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of my Mary I series, but can also stand on its own.

**Early 1534**

It was a typical, unremarkable day, and would have been just like all the other days that had passed since Mary was first summarily dragged to Hatfield, had she not heard the clatter of horses’ hooves and shouts of “ _The King approaches!_ ” When she heard it, she was whittling her way through a mountain of linens, per Lady Bryan’s command, but she immediately abandoned her task. Hitching up her skirts, she bolted down the stairs to the antechamber, heart pounding wildly.  

The formidable governess was pacing up and down the lines of the various members of Elizabeth’s household, checking that they were presentable to receive their King, when Mary appeared in the enormous doorway. Before the girl could get a word in edgewise, Lady Bryan snapped, “Back to your chamber at once, Lady Mary. The King wishes for you to be kept out of his sight, given your protracted intransigence.”

Mary’s cheeks burned at the public rebuke, as if she didn’t receive enough of them every day. It was on the tip of her tongue to protest that she had every right to greet her father when he arrived, and that such an order must have come from Anne, not him. A thought struck her suddenly, however. Instead of arguing back, she nodded and curtseyed before retreating back up to her stairs, the picture of meek obedience.

She could almost hear Lady Bryan breathe a sigh of relief behind her, and Mary bit back a smirk. Lady Bryan would realize her error when the King demanded to know why his eldest daughter was not present when he arrived and asked to see her of his own volition. Such a prospect seemed even sweeter to Mary, especially when she imagined Lady Bryan quavering under the King’s furious questions, and it was well worth the blow her pride suffered at acting so submissively in public.

Once in her chamber, Mary sat perched on the edge of her cot, hands twisting and untwisting in her lap, anticipation building to an almost feverish pitch in her. She had not seen her father for several years now, ever since he banished her mother from court and publically declared Anne queen in all but name. It had been so long, too long, since their last meeting. He would be taken aback when he saw how much she had grown, both in age and in poise. Mary could already imagine the warmth of his arms around her and his lips upon her forehead, his soft words of reassurance and comfort in her ears.

Once he saw her, he would melt and immediately regret that he had allowed himself to be separated from his daughter for so long. Within the day, she would be back at court and by her father’s side; within the week, her mother would have joined them there; within the month, Anne and her ilk would be banished from court, never to return.

All Mary needed was one conversation with her father, one reunion to remind him who his _real_ family was, and all would be set right in her world again.

But no one came.

She could hear bustling and chatter from the antechamber, three floors below, and Elizabeth’s babbling coos. If she listened close enough, she could pick out her father’s booming voice, a sound she had not heard in so long but still brought tears to her eyes. He must know she was upstairs, waiting for his invitation, but he was perfectly happy to ignore her existence and lavish attention on his already-spoiled bastard child.

He really had forgotten her, utterly.

Mary felt as though something heavy was pressing upon her, constricting her chest and corroding away at her skin. Distantly, she could hear the steady drumroll of footsteps parading out, her father’s entourage departing, and a sudden, desperate fear seized her. She couldn’t bear the thought that her father would leave without even seeing her once.

Mary charged out of her chamber, along the halls and up the stairs, heedless of propriety and other people’s stares. There was a stitch in her side, but she did not stop, not until she had reached the enormous balcony that overlooked the courtyard. She surged forward to the edge of the balcony, nearly falling over the parapet. Down below, she could see he had brought quite a few of his closest courtiers with him, numbering perhaps thirty or so. He was saddling his horse with the help of his grooms, making ready to leave.

His face was turned away from her, but she could see from his posture that he was relaxed, quite delighted after spending an afternoon with his youngest daughter. No indication that he even remembered he had another daughter, one whom he had neglected for far too long and whom he had missed the perfect opportunity to reconcile with today.

It was a sight that drove despair into her gut like a dagger, but she remained standing, her knuckles white as they gripped the parapet, her attention trained upon the gathering far below her. _Notice me_ , she prayed. _Don’t ignore me before your whole court, it would be like shouting from the rooftops of the palace that you truly care nothing for me. Turn around, please, just turn around and see me. Don’t humiliate me by forcing me to call down to you to get your attention--_

He was glancing up! Mary stood stock-still, her chin held high and her back straight like a princess as her father laid eyes upon her for the first time in years. He had the strangest expression on his face, not anger but wistful longing. One of his grooms gestured to him that the horse was ready to mount, but her father did not seem to notice. His gaze was trained upon Mary, seemingly contemplating something. Then he did something no one had expected: he _bowed_ to her.

Perhaps it was nothing more than an involuntary gesture, a half-hearted concession to placate the two warring inclinations in him, his love for Mary and that harpy’s hold on him. Whatever it was, the gentlemen in his train took it as an indication that they should also bow, and they did, many of them doffing their caps and bowing so low their foreheads brushed the ground.

It was a sight that made Mary’s heart soar.

She curtsied back, acknowledging the show of respect, and she smiled radiantly down at him. He did not smile back, but remained watching her for a few more moments before he rose out of his bow and mounted his horse, setting off and barking orders for his court to be off.

Mary had not received such deference since Elizabeth was born and she lost her titles. To be the focus of such a public outpouring of respect, and at her father’s behest no less, was a balm to her troubled soul. She knew that before the day was out, tongues would be wagging in every royal stronghold and throughout the land about her father’s salutation. She hoped that Anne heard the news and was devastated to know that she was losing power. Even more, she hoped that her mother heard it and was heartened by the knowledge that her husband still loved their daughter.

A faint, triumphant smile played upon her lips as she turned from the railing and made her way back downstairs to meet a fuming Lady Bryan. The governess rained chastisement and threats upon her, decreeing that the next time the King came, she would be locked in her chambers and kept under guard, and that for her flagrant disobedience, the few privileges she still enjoyed would be curtailed. Mary remained smiling, even when the governess demanded to know why she was so thrilled to have defied her sovereign lord in such an open manner. Mary didn’t care what punishments the governess imposed upon her, what reprimands were further hurled at her, because none of it mattered anymore.

Her father still loved and cared for her. She had known it all along, and she had seen undeniable proof of it this afternoon. He had acknowledged her, and in doing so, he had sent a clear message to her, Anne, the court, and the world. Her father still loved her, no matter what he had ordered against her, no matter what heresies he had adopted and what woman he had married. He knew in his heart that she was the pearl of his world and the _only_ Princess of England. There was nothing stronger than a father’s love for his daughter, and in due time, he would come to remember it. That thought alone sent a current of consolation through Mary’s being.

Lady Bryan had finished her tirade, and with a jerk of her head, she ordered the other dawdling ladies back to work. They scurried off after their irate mistress, leaving Mary alone for a moment. She closed her eyes and crossed herself, her spirits higher than they had been in weeks. Then she hitched up her skirts and hastened down the hall.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on a real visit Henry made to Hatfield sometime in 1534. He refused to see Mary, who was still out of favor, but when he caught sight of her standing upon a balcony, he bowed to her and prompted his retinue to bow as well before leaving. 
> 
> If anyone has any ideas or requests for any moments from Mary's life, seeing her interact with other Tudor figures, AU Mary-centric ideas, or even an entirely Mary-unrelated idea, leave me a comment!


End file.
